


Cold Blood

by Larsini



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Blood and Violence, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Deception, Dehumanization, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Face Slapping, I Mean C'mon he's the Winter soldier, I Tried, M/M, Memory Loss, No Lube, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character Death(s), POV First Person, Rough Oral Sex, Topping from the Bottom, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, eh who cares, fairly certain i missed some tags, hail HYDRA, referenced pain kink, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 05:46:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11434413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larsini/pseuds/Larsini
Summary: The world calls me the Winter Soldier. The Asset. The Fist of H.Y.D.R.A., their secret weapon, their mindless, senseless, soulless attack dog. I am a ghost. I am a phantom. I am a killer, and I am Death.My friends just call me Winter.~This is basically just 'Captain America: The Winter Soldier' with a twist, set right after the fight on the bridge.





	Cold Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This is NOT a songfic, but I still found myself listening to  
> 'Cold Blood' by Dave Not Dave  
> on loop while writing this, which explains the title. The lyrics don't match 100%, but the casual rhythm fits rather nicely imo. Just in case you're interested.
> 
> Not a native speaker and without a beta, so if you find any grammar/ spelling mistakes, PLEASE let me know in the comments.

Once upon a time, there had been James Buchanan Barnes.

Then darkness.

Then horror. And

So much pain. So much suffering. Enough tears to drown in, spilling over seas of blood.

And the screaming, persisting for years.

All the experiments. All the procedures.

And finally: the Winter Soldier.

A killer without remorse, a weapon without a mind, a ghost without name.

No one ever heard him coming. No one ever saw him leave.

And no one ever remembered James Buchanan Barnes.

Now they do.

S.H.I.E.L.D. remembers. The world remembers.

Steve Rogers remembers.

He made himself a promise.

He will end the nightmare that isn't a nightmare

He will lift the veil of darkness that H.Y.D.R.A. cast over the man, because

James Buchanan Barnes deserves to be saved.

But what if the Winter Soldier doesn't _need_ to be saved?

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

The world calls me the Winter Soldier. The Asset. The Fist of H.Y.D.R.A., their secret weapon, their mindless, senseless, soulless attack dog. I am a ghost. I am a phantom. I am a killer, and I am Death.

My friends just call me Winter.

I don't join them when they drive to the Triskelion with their prisoners. I return to the base, with Matthews and Johnson, like I always do. They are laughing, talking, relieved. The van seems empty without Rumlow and Rollins, but I don't care. My mind is still on that bridge.

Who the hell is Bucky?

Rumlow likes to joke about my social skills. I know what he means, understand why he finds them remarkable. I am terrible with people, and yet I am so effective it doesn't really make a difference. I want something, I take it. I have a question, I get the answer. Most times it suffices to just stare at people. They will give anything to a trained killer with an unbreakable metal arm pointing a gun at their face. In my field of work, social skills aren't needed, and so I don't have them.

And yet I know that today something remarkable happened.

People ask me who I am all the time. They ask who I am, what I want, who sent me. Why I am doing this. _How_ I can do this. Then they usually shut up for good, because if command sends me it means their use has expired.

But they don't... recognize me. They don't assign me a name. Sometimes they say they expected me. Sometimes they say they heard of me. Sometimes they tell me we met before.

But the man on the bridge... he asked me, with a single word, whether that was my name, as if the idea that it wasn't seemed unfathomable to him. He didn't expect me, obviously. He didn't say anything else. But apparently he thinks we crossed paths already.

I am trying to wrap my mind around it and fail.

Eventually the van comes to a halt, and I get up, curiosity in my mind. I don't usually have questions of my own, and so I hold on to it. It feels like an interesting way to pass the time, and at the same time it frustrates me.

Hopefully Rumlow and Rollins will come back soon. They seemed to know him.

Matthews and Johnson accompany me through the parking lot. It is deep underground like everything else, because we work in the shadows. My right hand is closed around my muzzle, I carry the rifle with my left and have it propped against my shoulder. There is sweat on my face, mixed with dried tears because I didn't wear my goggles and the sharp wind bit into my eyes.

For some reason I feel like sparring, and so I hand my rifle to Johnson and slip the muzzle back on my face because it feels comforting and leave them to sort out the mission, something that doesn't concern me, a fact that they envy me for. I never have to write reports.

I refuse to.

The gym is empty, all agents are on alert, no time for recreation. The air in the base is tense, imminent change hanging heavy in the air, and I savor the solitude while I make do without a sparring partner and start manhandling my equipment. Venting energy feels good. The fight left me feeling vitalized and hungry, and I want more.

The man on the bridge was an excellent fighter. I wish he was here so we could go for another round. This time we'd keep going until he is dead.

The clock in the back of my head keeps on ticking. One hour. Two hours. I worked a sweat, and by now I am running. Circle after circle around the hall, sprinting as if someone were hunting me. That rarely happens. I am the only predator on the field.

Usually. Not as of late. I wonder what the change will bring.

Then, after two hours and twenty-three minutes, I interrupt my rounds. Head for the shower, hope that they have returned by now.

I have questions.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

The agent is new, I can see it in Rumlow's eyes. When I walk into the locker room down on Level 3, my instincts guiding me to find my handler, I see that look on his face. That ''fucking hell I don't get paid enough for this shit'' look. Both men turn when I step inside, and that look tells me everything I need to know.

I go blank.

My face is always the same, but at times it falls empty. Rumlow says it makes me look scary, and he likes that, so I do it for him sometimes. When I hurt him. When I fuck him, my left hand cutting off his air, the right holding the knife, and he looks like he could use to get a kick out of it.

Going blank usually does the trick.

''...as I was saying,'' he continues after looking at me and turns back to the newcomer, who has visible trouble to tear his eyes off the Winter Soldier. I put on a show. Give him an obvious assessment, let my eyes rake over his body. He is taller than Rumlow, a fact my handler must hate, and in good form. Short hazel hair, bright eyes, a strong jaw. Wearing combat pants and gleaming boots and a tight black shirt like the rest of them, as if it is their uniform, and I decide I don't like him. Mainly because Rumlow doesn't, but there is also something about him that screams _weakness_.

I glide to that spot behind Rumlow's left shoulder, the spot that has me prepared to dive forward and shield him with my arm, not about to get in his way if he shoots, and meet the new guy's eyes for a moment. His light up. Mine wander on, the thousand-yard stare sinking into my features.

The Asset returning to its handler. Slotting back into place and waiting for orders.

''...and leave me alone with that, I'm not your fucking babysitter.'' I listened to everything Rumlow said, but it doesn't interest me. ''Got that?''

''Yes, sir.''

''Don't fucking 'sir' me.'' Rumlow glares at him now, not quite one-hundred eighty pounds of muscle and cool disgust. ''That's for the guys who fucking earned it.''

''Yes, -'' The newcomer falters. Realizes he doesn't know how to adress him, and I hold back a smirk. I don't know how to socialize, but I like it when Rumlow checkmates them. It's good for his ego, which is good for his mood, which in turn is good for me, because having to waste time on reigning him in can be tedious at times.

It's hard to beat someone into shape when they get off on the pain.

''That's... the Winter Soldier, right?'' the new guy asks now.

''Yes, Connor, that's the Winter Soldier. Fucking perceptive, aren't you.'' Rumlow's voice is acidic.

I pretend I am somewhere else still.

''Is he... what is he like?'' Apparently the new kid wants to get in trouble. There are three things in this world Rumlow is possessive of – his Berettas, Rollins and me, and not necessarily in that order.

Now my handler turns around to look at me. Gives me an appraising look as if he were studying a piece of meat, and I let him. Stare straight ahead and pretend I'm his to command, to heel, bark and bite as he sees fit. Sometimes that even rings true.

Mostly when someone pissed him off and I've got nothing better to do.

''He's... an oversized ragdoll, really,'' Rumlow decides after a few seconds, casts a look to the guy named Connor to make sure he gets that. ''Pretty fucking useful in a fight, too.''

''Does he feel pain?'' the kid asks like an idiot and tilts his head. Shifts a little to study me like an exhibit. I enjoy the attention and let Rumlow pull his little stunt.

''Not really. Who the fuck cares.'' Rumlow shrugs. Then he backhands me, hard, and I can feel my lip split from the force. I let my head fall to the side, then lower it and relax into my default stance again. I didn't even blink, and without the kid seeing it Rumlow gives me a hungry, daring look. He knows I'll pay him back later.

Then he turns back around to Connor, who paled and flinched when Rumlow hit me, expecting me to go ballistic. Now he comes closer again, eyes wide and fascinated.

Yes, to someone like him that must have looked fairly impressive.

''Wow,'' he says after a few more seconds of studying me. ''You really got him under control.''

I expect Rumlow to flaunt his authority at that, but he doesn't. Instead he smirks.

''It's just trigger words and phrases, really. Guy and his codes come into the wrong hands, we have a fucking problem.'' It has always been easier to let them believe that tale. ''Mindless, ruthless, completely empty. Find me a fucking dog that's as obedient as him, I fucking dare you.''

He grins, teeth gleaming, and the kid looks impressed. Then something dark hunts through his eyes, almost lecherous. I hold back a sigh. They all do that, at some point. There is always someone whose mind starts wandering down that path. I wait for his next words, and he doesn't disappoint.

''Sounds like a nice party favor,'' he murmurs. He tries to make it sound casual, as if there is no question in his eyes, and Rumlow plays the scumbag that he is and barks out a dirty laugh.

''Oh, boy, you got no fucking idea.'' He revels in this. ''Let's just say those pretty lips aren't just for show.'' He raises his hand and almost affectionately brushes his thumb over my blood-smeared lip. He knows he's toeing the line here, but he still shoves it inside my mouth and presses against my tongue. I taste blood, nicotine, gun powder and Rollins' aftershave.

''Suck.'' Rumlow stares me straight in the eye. I stare back. Obediently hollow my cheeks and start sucking. Flick my tongue against his thumb because I know he likes it, and lick away the smears of blood.

Connor looks like he's about to come on the spot.

''Fuck,'' he says, and I watch him from the corner of my eye. Still stare at Rumlow and scrape my teeth over his skin, light enough to not have it show on the outside, but right on cue his pupils dilate. I know he wants me to suck more than just his thumb, wants to have me use my teeth with a whole lot more bite behind it, but we have an audience.

He pulls out his thumb and wipes it on my chest, and without seeing it I imagine silvery, glistening lines against the smooth dark fabric of my jacket.

Connor starts walking around me. He is getting bolder now, and Rumlow lets him. I distantly wonder what he is going for. A scare? Or is he daring me, wants to see how long I will play along?

''You know, that reminds me...'' My handler's voice is thougtful, and he studies me through narrowed eyes. ''He almost butchered the fucking mission today. Pretty stupid, really.'' He shifts his jaw forward, and although the kid is standing behind me now, probably imagining to bend me over, I can feel his eyes light up like that. They just have to. Rumlow is really out for it today.

I stare into his eyes. The kid is still behind me, so I drop my mask for a moment. Raise a brow, and he smiles. His eyes flicker to the blood on my lip. Darkness in his eyes. A strain in his muscles.

He makes his decision, and I resist the urge to flex my fingers. His call. He is the one who has to scrub the blood off my arm.

''Close the door, kid,'' he almost purrs, and a rustling and a change in the air tell me that Connor's head shot up. So he _was_ checking out my ass.

I'm good.

''W-what?''

''Shut the fucking door, and bolt it.'' Rumlow steps up so close to me that our noses would meet, if he weren't several inches smaller than me. ''You already had your initiation?''

''N-no.'' Connor's stutter comes from a lack of blood in his brain and nothing else. It's always like that – everyone at H.Y.D.R.A. seems to be a goddamn psychopath. I wonder whether they list that as an requirement.

Maybe they are trying to shape them in my image.

The kid obeys and closes the door, and Rumlow nods while running a fingertip over the bristly line of my jaw.

''Wouldn't want to have anyone interrupt this. It's your lucky day, kid.'' One last heated, daring stare into my eyes, and he steps back. ''He's all yours.''

Connor gapes. I stare at Rumlow. Rumlow grins back.

He thinks I'll fold. Or maybe he knows I won't. You never know with him.

''You serious?''

''Yeah.'' Rumlow shrugs, crosses his arms his chest, leans his back against a nearby locker. ''Probably gonna hand him over for... public punishment anyway. That's the only way he gets it.''

''Public punishment?'' the kid asks, and I wonder whether he had some kind of mental disability, constantly asking retarded questions.

''Open all fucking week... 'fucking' being the key word here. Ain't that right, Winter?'' He cocks his head.

I drop my blank expression just enough to convey a hint of distress.

''Now, you listen to him,'' he tells me. ''For the next twenty minutes, you do as he says. Got that?''

I nod, a curt, precise jerk of my head, and finally the kid warms up a little. He swallows hard, then stares at me.

''On your knees.'' It sounds a little uncertain, and I decide to boost his ego and drop. My knees hit the floor, my eyes are elsewhere. His confidence grows, and I know Rumlow's getting hard.

''Fuck,'' the kid breathes, and it's nice to be appreciated. He steps up to me, then hesitates.

''You sure he's harmless?''

''Perfectly docile. Just don't say... _Longing_. _Rusted_.'' It takes me a second, but I catch on. My head jerks around as I stare at Rumlow. '' _Seeventeen_.'' He grins at me, and my eyes go cold. '' _Daybreak_.''

''What are you doing?'' Connor jerks back. The trick with the eyes always works.

Rumlow leans forward, ass against the locker, and cooes at me. ''Abort.''

I snap back into docility.

''Trigger words,'' he tells the kid seriously, as if he hadn't just made that shit up off the top of his head. ''As I said, it's all conditioning, because Winter here's a fucking mess.'' Then he invitingly waves his hand at me. ''Go ahead, he's perfectly safe.''

So Connor does. His eagerness to get his dick inside me is greater than his wariness, and that alone is a reason enough to get rid of him.

Then his hand grabs my hair, digs into it as if there was any reason to hold my head in place apart from his ego, and I make a mental note to make Rumlow brush my hair afterwards. He owes me that much.

My handler leans back against the locker again, grinning and expectant, and waits for the show. And Connor flicks a finger against my lips, a lot more confident now that he knows I'm just a brainless sex doll, at least while I'm not out murdering people.

''Open it.''

''You know, not one to tell you how to fuck, but you could always tell him to start prepping himself,'' Rumlow casually chips in.

Now he's just trying to go on my nerves.

''... if that's what you're going for.''

And Connor apparently had no idea that my ass was included in the deal, because he looks absolutely delighted. Then he grins.

''What if you go in dry?''

''Your decision. He doesn't care.''

I really don't.

So Connor takes a step back and starts unbuckling his belt.

''Prep yourself,'' he tells me while Rumlow watches me so closely I'm about to offer him a magnifying glass. As if he'd ever see any reaction I don't want him to see.

By now my mind is made up, and I obediently begin to unzip my trousers. That at least has my handler blinking, and I am tempted to cast him a look. He meant to test me. Now I will repay the favor.

While I shift down my pants and part my knees on the cold, hard tiles, Connor starts to stroke himself. He's hard already, leaking drops of precome at the mere thought of getting to top me, and I slip two fingers into my mouth and drench them in saliva. The left hand, because if I do this for the sole sake of making a point, I might as well get something out of it.

There's nothing like cold steel to hit the spot.

''Fuck,'' Connor breathes, and Rumlow shifts a little, fully hard by now, and doesn't take his eyes off me. Then I slip my fingers out of my mouth with a slightly exaggerated pop and reach behind me. Slide them between my ass cheeks, find my hole. My eyes are elsewhere. Rumlow starts palming himself through the fabric of his pants. I push my fingers inside, the pain too short and sweet to stop me, and feel my enhanced body adjust immediately.

Connor splutters out a low curse, red in his face, and once more grabs my hair. The next moment he shoves the tip of his cock past my lips, and I add the necessity of brushing my teeth to the list. He digs his fingers into my scalp while I open my jaw, then slams into my throat. One sharp, hard thrust that would have made me gag, if I had a gag reflex.

I don't, and so I swallow him down, ignore the salty, heady taste and start to get annoyed over the fact that I can't look around like I want to. My cold, hard fingers are scissoring me open, forcing their way into the tight heat I can't feel, and I know that if I cast Rumlow just the right look he would buck.

Instead I inwardly close my eyes and let it happen. Let the kid pull out again, another curse falling from his lips, before he thrusts into my mouth again, slams the head of his cock against the back of my throat and I open up a little further so I can accommodate him without my teeth getting in the way. My tongue presses flatly against the underside of his cock, hot and pulsing and leaking precome into my throat, and my fingers slip a little deeper inside, the third forcing its way past the tight ring of muscles now.

Connor gains speed, I begin to enjoy myself, and Rumlow is hopefully disappointed with the way I just give in.

A moment later he proves me wrong by stepping into my field of view.

''He's ready,'' he tells Connor, his eyes never leaving mine, and I let my lids flutter while I thrust deeper and add some force. The new guy hesitates, then nods and pulls back, my saliva glistening on his cock, his precome pooling on my tongue.

''He's fucking perfect,'' he lets Rumlow know, as if that were news to anyone but the kid himself.

''Yeah, he is.'' Shortly his eyes graze mine, and when Connor circles me, ready to get down to business, I cast Rumlow a wink.

The grin that spreads on his lips is deadly.

''He's not too good at enjoying himself, so let me pep it up for you,'' he tells the kid. Resistance against the shallow thrusts of my fingers tells me that Connor is trying to make me stop, so I obediently twist my fingers out and feel my hole reflexively clench. I am beginning to enjoy myself, and when Rumlow steps closer, his crotch on par with my eyes, I allow myself a smirk.

Then the kid kneels down behind me, panting now and sweating, and I can feel a tingle of anticipation. He won't be any good, he'll do it all wrong, and I usually don't like to bottom, but my body doesn't really care. I'll get off on this, preferably with Rumlow inwardly seething, and that's all that matters.

Connor doesn't speak anymore. He just cups my ass, digs his fingers into the muscles underneath, and I know he admires it. Then he shifts forward, and I can feel the hot, hard tip of his cock slide down the cleft of my ass, leaving a quickly cooling trace of precome. I focus on the feeling, relax to make it easier for him -

\- and then suddenly there are Rumlow's hands on me. One closes around my throat, forces my jaw up, and with the other he clamps down over my mouth and nose and cuts off my air supply.

Our eyes meet.

He is smiling.

It wasn't what I expected, is quite unfair, really, but I won't give in just yet, even if it is just a game. Behind me Connor is completely lost in the study of my clenching asshole and the way it looks against his cock, and meanwhile Rumlow and me fight a silent battle of glares.

And then, finally, the kid starts pushing in.

He doesn't have the biggest cock, but it suffices. Slowly pushes inside me, forces its way inside my body with mesmerizing slowness, and I can feel the shaking of his muscles while he tries to keep himself from just slamming it in deep.

So I do it for him and rock back sharply, split myself open on his cock in one long, hard thrust.

He gasps, his hand comes up and once more grabs my hair to have something to hold on to, he yanks my head back, and Rumlow grins down at me, watching me run out of air. It is merely a faint burning now, but we both know that it will get worse.

Under ideal conditions I can go for nine minutes.

But getting fucked isn't ideal. It takes energy, and so we don't have much time.

The moment Rumlow lets go this party will be over, and so I clench down hard and rock back against Connor, take his cock as deep as it will go, and the kid almost loses his balance against the strength behind my thrust.

''F-fuck,'' he gasps, still teaing my hair and revealing my throat to Rumlow, just the way he likes it, ''you s-said he doesn't enjoy himself.''

''That's just him trying to weasel out of his punishment by being a good little cum dumpster. Ain't that right, Winter?'' The fingers around my throat dig into the soft flesh underneath my jaw, and for the first time I feel a twinge of arousal that is more than just physical stimulation. He knows what I like.

And more importantly, he knows I'll pay him back.

''Fuck,'' Connor groans against my shoulder. He's rocking into me in earnest now, now and then even scraping my prostate while one hand holds my head twisted back and the other presses against my chest. His thrusts gain speed, and I feel the air in my lungs grow sparse.

Rumlow must be rock hard by now, seeing me this way.

He calls it humiliation.

I always found it hard to understand that concept, but if it floats his boat... I don't mind.

Then Connor lands a good thrust, the head of his cock slams right against my prostate, and I buck, my eyes widen and make a noise against Rumlow's hand. The familiar strength of his warm, dry hand over my face only adds to the affect, along with the burning in my lungs, and I start to enjoy myself in earnest.

Connor finally lets go of my hair. Grabs my hip and holds me in place while he slams into me, his hips smacking against my ass while he thrusts up again and again, harder and faster each time, and I feel hot tension curl inside me. My cock is hard by now, and the look in Rumlow's eyes, dark and hungry and thrilled, makes it even better. I moan, more for his benefit than out of real need, and his hips buck forward a little.

He know I'd swallow his cock in an instant, and it's driving him mad, because he can't decide. Get off or choke me? Come down my throat or watch me lose control?

He does the sensible thing and grits his teeth before clamping down a little tighter. My eyes flutter shut. I'll pay him back.

Behind me Connor is gasping, panting, his rough thrusts slowly going frantic, and he seems to have paid attention to my body, because now he hits my prostate with almost every thrust. Slides in and out, past my tight walls and deeper into my body, glides out again, jerks back inside and forces his way even more roughly than before. There is pain in it, mostly pleasure, and now I am seriously running out of air. The noises trying to escape my throat are getting louder, and I can feel my own release build inside me, hot and pulsing, and know that Rumlow is closely watching me, reading me like a book. I let him.

Makes it better for all of us.

Then Connor cries out, slams in again with enough force to have me buck forward, only caught by Rumlow's iron grip, and I can feel the guy's cock pulse inside my clenched hole, now riding out his orgasm with flat, shallow, desperate thrusts while he floods my insides with his cum, and the painful grip of his fingers on my hips gives me the rest.

My eyes fly open, my lungs by now screaming for air, and I start shaking, fighting myself to hold still before I lose control and accidentally rip the kid's dick off.

Rumlow stares at me, lips parted, eyes so blown they look black. Watches me writhe a second longer. Then he lets go, and a split second later his hand is in my hair, yanking so viciously I feel the skin tear, and backhands me hard enough to have me see stars while I come. Air is flooding my lungs, my body is convulsing while I greedily draw it in, and the new, flaring pain crashes into me and has me toppling over the edge. I arch back, muscles straining, and hear Connor cry out when my muscles strain and I clench down too tightly, but it doesn't matter. Relief is washing through me like liquid fire while I come untouched, finally wrap my still slick fingers around my cock and jerk it so hard I whine.

Rumlow steps aside, probably not wanting his pants ruined with my come, and Connor is still crying, trying to push away from me.

I suck in more air, still riding my high. Rumlow lets go of me. Gives me a nod.

Then I let the kid's cock go, and he whines with relief, right before I twist around and begin to claw him to pieces. My left arm is, in and of itself, a blunt weapon, but it _does_ come with finger nails. I rake them over his neck, just once, expertly hitting the aorta, and while the guy's eyes go wide in sudden shock I dig my left thumb into the gaping wound and _tear_.

The spray of hot, fresh blood in my face, tasting of salt and rust and sticky sweetness, aligns perfectly with the fading waves of my relief still rocking through my body, and I ignore Connors spluttered gasp and bring my other hand to his neck as well.

One sharp crack, and that is that. His body topples out of my grip, slams on the floor, and still blood is pulsing and his limbs are twitching, but he is already gone.

Silence settles, only my heavy breathing resounding from the walls.

''Happy now?'' Rumlow steps up next to me, careful to keep away from the spreading puddle of blood seeping out of Connor's corpse. I look up from my kneeling position and lick some blood off my lips.

Rumlow is grinning. His eyes are dark and pleased, and now that I had my relief I feel a little more affable and lean against him, nuzzle my face against the hard outline of his straining cock. He absentmindedly cards his fingers through my hair and stares down at the lifeless body of the young recruit.

''Anyone asks -'' he begins, and I roll my eyes.

''Yes.'' Then I open my mouth a little wider and begin mouthing at his erection. He looks down at me, visibly fighting to keep from rocking against my mouth. Doesn't ask, just raises a brow.

I smirk and cast him a hooded glance through lowered lashes. He shivers.

Then he gives my head a pat and steps back.

''Not gonna have that kid's blood all over my fucking cock,'' he growls, and that settles that. The next moment there's a loud banging.

We both turn around, and then Rumlow nudges me with his foot, nods towards the door.

''Yes,'' I call out, because it's better if no one knows that he was here.

''Brock, I know you're in there.'' Could be worse. Could be anyone but Rollins.

Rumlow breathes a sigh and carefully steps over the puddle of blood, and I get to my feet and start pulling my pants up. They are dripping blood, and I can feel a trickle of cooling come run down my thigh, but that doesn't matter now. Better than walking around naked.

Besides, my gear was designed to survive a few stains.

''Keep your fucking voice down, will ya?'' Rumlow mutters when he unbolts the door and opens it just enough for his partner to slip in. The man's eyes fall on the massacre before the lockers, then latch on me. I wipe a bloodied hand over my bloodied face and brush it through my bloodied hair. When I grin I'm sure there is blood on my teeth.

Rollins sighs.

''Can't leave you guys alone for five minutes, can I?''

''Let's get out of here,'' Rumlow says instead of an answer. Then he looks to me, and his eyes are glistening. ''Later.''

''Mmh.'' I stretch and watch them go, revel a little longer in the feeling of the absolute power I possess. I can step out there now, covered from head to toe in blood, with a butchered H.Y.D.R.A. agent telling the whole base what I did, and there won't be a single consequence for me.

Because I am the Winter Soldier

I am Death.

 

Only now do I realize that I didn't ask Rumlow about the man on the bridge.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was meant to be part of something longer, but as it works well enough on its own, I thought I'd just throw it out there and test the waters. I hope it's still comprehensible.  
> Liked it? Hated it? Want to talk about your feelings or the weather? Leave a comment!<3


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